Okay, it's a little late, but I had exams. Once again, credit goes to MattSilver for his awesome beta-ing. First up, a forewarning.
This chapter is full of, ahem, drama and angst. You get to see the depth of Black's backstory and get more details about his conflicted psyche. However, I'm a true proponent of you've got to hit rock-bottom before you can go up; this chapter is a necessary step in Black's journey and provides catharsis. Chapter Five will be less dramatic, so no worries.
Please tell me what you think regarding some of the battles' facets, I suppose you'd call it. I relied on the game for my canon.
Have fun.
I'll deliberately keep Chapter Five, Six and the Epilogue until I feel that the time is right. lol at the teasing. xD
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. If I did, the Pokemon Spe. Manga would have an anime adaptation.
"Chapter Four"
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"Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength."
-Ovid-
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Alder is pacing in front of me. He stares at the stairway which leads away from the Pokémon League and into the heart of N's Castle. To my right, Cheren crosses his arms and tries to maintain a façade of calm. It doesn't work.
When I start to climb up the stairs, Alder grabs my wrist. His stubbly face, smeared with sweat from his battle with N, seems troubled.
"Wait," he says. "If you go in there, you will have to face Reshiram, the Yang Dragon. A god."
I tell them that I understand that.
Alder shakes his head. "No, not completely. Reshiram's power is like nothing you could imagine. The Dark Stone has not even responded yet. Only danger waits inside there."
"I don't have any other choice," I say.
Alder clenches his fists. For a moment, I think he's going to stop me. He gives me a regretful expression, as though he wants to do more to help me.
He relaxes his hands.
"Face your destiny, then." His tone becomes firm. "I might regret this, but go forward and battle N. Prove that humans and Pokémon have an unbreakable bond."
.
/+/+/+/+/+/ /
.
Black didn't give Cynthia much time to react; he threw the Pokéball in his hand into the air.
"Beheeyem, I choose you!" said Black.
A brown, bejewelled biped manifested with a flash of white light. The creature had a bulbous, oblong head, from which gleamed a pair of green gemstones. A series of other jewels, ranging from white agates to paired rubies and tourmalines, embossed its small, levitating body. Mystical markings etched into the skull, like the mysterious Stone-Circles of the Far West.
There was little wonder why people called Beheeyem the 'Alien Pokémon'.
Cynthia's hand jumped to her Pokéballs when Black suddenly pointed at her.
"Charge Beam," he ordered.
An arc of blinding electricity hustled, like a cracking whip. Black pursed his lips when the Charge Beamappeared to strike bullseye on Cynthia, who buckled with a choke. Was the great former Champion defeated from one blow?
Of course not.
To Black's correct predictions, Cynthia pulled herself off the ground. Her entire body was wrapped in a foul, sizzling energy, which emanated the putrid stench of decay. It was a funerary smell, one you'd associate with open caskets and dilapidated graveyards. Black shivered; his skin was beginning to break out in goosebumps, as though his pores were anticipating a tainted presence.
The dark energy converged, forming a malevolent creature.
An odd keystone hovered in front of Cynthia.
Shit, a Dark-type. Immediately, Black knew what to do: "Beheeyem, Light Screen."
Humming a tuneless song, the extraterrestrial released a squall of raw, psionic power. Mesmeric light burst outwards, like a distant nova. Wisps of rainbow colours danced through the nearby trees. A translucent shield began to form. However, the telepathic energies had barely congealed, when a shadowy figure rushed forward.
The Light Screen cracked upon impact. Beheeyem cried, and bits of numinous glass were sent flying. The shadow-beast cackled, sending its ethereal tendrils towards the Psychic. Beheeyem was forced to telekinetically fling a folding-chair in front of himself to block the ghostly assault.
"Shadow Sneak is usually considered a dick-move, Cynthia," said Black coldly. "I never expected that from you."
"Choosing to attack a Trainer directly isn't in good taste, either."
Black snorted. "Like you don't always carry Spiritomb around your pocket."
Beheeyem panicked when the folding-chair started to collapse under pressure. Invisible arms crumpled the iron-joints, like a child's Play-Dough. The Keystone drew closer.
"I'm quick with my hands," said Cynthia. Her voice gained an oddly sad tint. "Why can't you accept that some people actually care about you?"
"Thunderbolt!"
Squeaking, Beheeyem fired a streak of hot lightning, through the gap in the folding chair and at the Keystone. The air actually rippled from the heat, as the Thunderbolt skimmed the surface of the Keystone, before spiralling into one of Caitlin's fountains. The marble boy, innocent-eyed and clutching a carved pail, exploded.
"You're full of shit," Black told Cynthia. "I can't believe how self-righteous your crap can get."
Beheevem garnered another cluster of electricity.
Black gave a loathing smile. "Most people don't know exactly what I've done. If they did, they'd all stay away from me. All of them. That includes you."
When his Trainer nodded, the Beheeyem discharged the second Thunderbolt. This time, the attack honed closer to its target. Electricity crackled, singeing the meticulously mowed lawns. Hot wind lashed, as Cynthia shielded her face from the scorching heat. Black didn't even turn away.
"The truth is that even you don't really give a damn about me," said Black, harshly. "Not for the right reasons."
Suddenly, the hot air that was billowing outwards vanished. Black gripped his fists, as Beheeyem cried in surprise. What could this be? What was happening? The temperature dropped, and an eerie whistle coiled through the trees. The air in front of Black became a cloud of vapour. A repulsive stench swelled. It was at this moment that Black noticed that the Thunderbolt, the coil of electricity, was still churning. The lightning was also immobile, as though it was being held down on the spot.
"That's a lie," said Cynthia quietly. "Believe it or not, I do harbour some affection for you. And you know it."
A hiss and a bang. The Ominous Wind blasted through the Thunderbolt, which it had been keeping at bay. Beheeyem was flung across the garden. He was screaming as he went crashing into an aged, flaking birch. Gales of swivelling purple slithered around the tree, while the brimmed leaves started to decay. Black watched the vile keystone, floating above the rot and mould. A wraithlike laugh reverberated.
"Ghost attacks…" muttered Black. "It's a violation against the world's natural forces. Nothing should be allowed to linger between life and death. The tether is an affront to the cycles of birth."
"Our existences aren't mounted in black and white," was Cynthia's gentle reply.
Withered leaves bristled, as broken branches were telekinetically hurled from the ground. Beheeyem drifted up from the disarray. His face was riddled with scours, and the right emerald was cracked. Black knew that although the Psychic-type was still able to battle, Beheeyem would need medical attention. His Pokémon… Injured, because of his own inadequacies as a Trainer. Black's blaze of fury bolstered.
"The press always wondered how the great Cynthia– " Black emphasised her name. " – obtained something as disgusting as Spiritomb."
Cynthia didn't reply; she twisted her ring again, as that curious, brown stone glistered.
Picking up his fallen League hat, Black spoke: "I think it's rather apt. A Pokémon who matches its Trainer."
Cynthia looked at him; her face exuded sympathy.
"Spiritomb, I want you to summon a full-charge Shadow Ball," she commanded calmly.
Delighted, the Keystone shrieked in affirmation. The dark shadows whipped inwards, rallying into a rotating sphere. The black ball began to burgeon, like a macabre balloon.
"Beheeyem," said Black, "disrupt it with rapid Psybeam."
As Cynthia gave a look of surprise, Beheeyem deployed an iridescent beam. The shimmering ray rushed towards the Spiritomb, who was still charging the Shadow Ball. Psychic energies met Ghost. A high-pitched wail rattled the sky, as bits of turf and fertiliser were sent flying. After a moment of hesitation, Beheeyem squealed and barrelled into the fray surrounding the Keystone. A wreath of mystical flames enthroned the Psychic-type's head. Screeching, Spiritomb tried to defend its flank with a dark tendril of splintering energy.
Black jumped out of the way, when the resultant blast heaved a sharpened bough towards him. However, the projectile cut his ankle as it whizzed past, slashing through his Flaafy-wool socks. He felt his sneakers begin to fill his blood.
Cynthia squinted, trying to see her Pokémon through the dust surrounding it and Beheeyem.
"How is this possible? A Psychic attack working on Spiritomb," she said to herself. "That mesmeric, rainbow light from earlier… Could it be?"
Black ripped off a section of his shirt. When he took off the sneaker, the red parts of his shoe seemed darker in colour. Carefully, he tied the cloth around the injured ankle. As he put on the sneaker again, the smoke which encircled Beheeyem and Spiritomb began to fade. Already Black could perceive the floating, bipedal figure – and a motionless Keystone.
"Yeah, Miracle Eye." Black confirmed for Cynthia. "It allows the user to deprive Darks of their immunities."
The haze cleared, and a victor was apparent. Beheeyem, though gasping for breath, was hovering over the battered Keystone. The trailing shadows, and that accompanying presence of malice, had vanished. A noticeable chunk of stone was missing.
"Miracle Eye also enabled Beheeyem to discern through illusions," Black said.
Coloured with acrimony, he gripped his League cap. "I didn't have time for your bullshit."
"Psybeam and Zen Headbutt. Power moves…" Cynthia sounded forlorn. "You have such potential for battling. Why are you so reluctant to admit that fact?"
"You never know when to give up," said Black, brusquely.
Cynthia said nothing. Instead, she strode to her Spiritomb and examined the indentations in the Keystone. Her face lightened subtly with relief. Presumably, the Ghost-type was still "alive", if that was even possible.
Meanwhile, Black scrutinised Beheeyem. The rubies in the Pokémon's hands had lost much of their vibrant sheen, as though something vital had been siphoned from them. He snapped out of the Pokédex: low health, low energy; an unknown status affliction.
'Unknown status affliction'… Black wondered if Spiritomb had played that one, final card, before fading. If it did, Black wouldn't be surprised. Cynthia had already once surprised him with her bullcrap – and history tended to repeat itself.
"It must have been terrible, having to do what you did," said Cynthia sombrely, as she aimed her Pokéball at Spiritomb. "The pain must have been impossible to describe."
When the tattering Keystone dissolved into a stream of red light, returning to the Pokéball, Beheeyem squealed. The Alien Pokémon writhed in pain, as Black felt his heart plummet. Beheeyem's limbs splayed out, as though invisible forks were skewering them. A soundless scream tore the Psychic-type's throat, while a tell-tale fetid smell of infected meat blossomed towards the rest of the garden. Black lowered his League cap.
Pursing his lips, Black returned the thrashing Beheeyem to his Pokéball.
He glared at Cynthia, whose demeanour was still unflappable and irrefutably enigmatic.
"Has Destiny Bond always been your Spiritomb's finishing move?" asked Black, icily. "Or is it just something you whipped up now to screw with my head?"
"I don't want to hurt you," she said, in a regretful tone.
"Too late for that." Black chose his next Pokéball. "Unfezant! Take to the sky!"
The great, grey bird emerged in a flash of white radiance. Unruffled, Unfezant greeted her Trainer with a soothing trill. Black stroked the Pokémon's back feathers.
"Hey, girl," he said, "d'you think you're ready for one more battle?"
Unfezant glanced at Cynthia. Whipping her head back, the Pokémon cawed sharply.
Black clenched his fists. "It was the last straw."
Another caw.
"I promise you won't have to do much," said Black, brusquely. "Three minutes, tops."
When Unfezant gave a slow, reluctant whistle, Cynthia felt her gaze soften.
"The way you care for your Pokémon; it reflects your true character," murmured the blonde woman. "Many people treat Pokémon as tools for battling, but you understand that Pokémon are not your pets, but your friends."
Cynthia followed the rim of her ring's brown stone.
"Why can't you trust people like you trust your Pokémon?" she asked, pressing her hands against one of the shattered, garden statues.
Her hand traced outlines over the marble girl, moving over the statue's laughing cheeks.
She repeated: "Why?"
"Because I can understand my Pokémon!" shouted Black. "They don't expect anything from me, they treat me the same as before. When I'm with them, nothing has changed."
Cynthia called out Black's name.
"The truth hurts, but you have accept," she asserted, steadfastly. "Learn to forgive and believe that a world of ideals can coexist."
When Black tautened, Cynthia sighed and chose her next Pokémon. It was no use…
"Garchomp, let's go," said Cynthia.
A Pokéball twirled upwards, as the familiar, fearsome visage of the land-shark materialised. Garchomp stomped and let out a keen battle-cry. Noticing Black, the Dragon-type snarled; the Mach Pokémon still despised him, it seemed.
Garchomp reared his head back, as though he were preparing to ram Black into a wall. Perhaps using Headbutt? The creature was certainly no stranger to the move, as the events on Tuesday had proven. That sunny day at Undella Beach, where Cynthia was wearing an indecent bikini and Black himself was forced into an obscene Sharpedo speedo… A memory of sympathetic, ash-grey eyes resurfaced, like a buoy. Cynthia had made him laugh, made him feel like he could hopeagain–
Why couldn't he feel like that now?
Dismissing those mutinous thoughts, Black addressed his Pokémon:
"Unfezant. Aerial Ace."
"Counter with Crunch," directed Cynthia.
With a resounding roar, the two Pokémon catapulted towards each other. Unfezant glided through the sky and encircled Garchomp, giving the impression of a hunter and its prey. Her talons were extended, glinting like whetted knives. Then, she lunged. Swinging his powerful tail, Garchomp defended and tensed, as the bird swooped under the dragon's hooked arms. The Dragon-type missed. Unfezant gracefully continued her attack; she feinted with a laggard swipe on the left, before swiftly veering to the Garchomp's exposed, right flank.
True to its word, Aerial Ace did not miss; Unfezant clawed the Garchomp's scaly skin, tearing through flesh to draw blood. However, Garchomp was far from finished. The land-shark slammed his right leg into Unfezant's hovering form, catching a strangled cry from the bird. As Unfezant tried to open her wings to fly away, Garchomp curled his tail around the bird's midsection.
The Dragon-type gave an ominously toothy grin.
"FeatherDance into a Tailwind!" shouted Black, as Garchomp brought his fangs towards the struggling Unfezant.
Unfezant flapped her wings, releasing a smothering deluge of grey feathers into Garchomp's open mouth. Choking, the land-shark writhed and loosened his grasp on Unfezant, the Crunch attack completely forgotten. The bird seized this window of opportunity and tore free. Immediately, Unfezant soared into the sky, with the verve of a kestrel. A light breeze began to pick up, rustling through the swing-set near the porch. The Dodrio weathervane turned against the advent winds.
Garchomp spat out the last of the feathers. Infuriated, he roared and, when Cynthia nodded, heaved a gust of fuschia flames at Unfezant. The nearby gardenia shrubs ignited, as its flowers hissed with smoke. Unfezant dove under Garchom's otherworldly fire, only to meet a second Dragonbreath. The blaze licked the bird's sensitive chest. Screaming, Unfezant plummeted into the fountain below. Collected rainwater drenched the antiquated plinth, as the Dragonbreath on the bird's plumage became extinguished.
Meanwhile, the ambient breeze evolved into a moderate zephyr.
Black felt something catch in his throat. A horrible feeling sank in stomach, like an anvil.
"Why do you fight?" asked Cynthia, as Garchomp approached the fountain. "Why do you refuse to open your heart?"
Unfezant's form floated in the middle of the fountain. Her tail feathers, normally stiff and proud, were charred, their ends wilted like a limp vegetable. Garchomp's shadow loomed over the bird.
"Unfezant!" shouted Black. "U-Turn!"
Abruptly, Unfezant leapt from the fountain, soaring over the surprised Garchomp's head. She plunged at the land-shark before the Dragon-type could react. Her claws raked the top of her opponent's head and cleaved off some scales, as though one would peel a tangerine. Howling in fury rather than in pain, Garchomp tried to swipe Unfezant, but the bird had already swerved around and away.
Black's Pokéball opened, as Unfezant transformed into a stream of red light. Once the bird had safely returned, the ball clicked close.
When the zephyr intensified into a mild gale, Black shouted at Cynthia.
"Stop pretending like you want to relate to me!" he yelled, clutching Unfezant's ball. "Like you understand me!"
"But I do – "
Black laughed cynically. "You're a real piece of work, aren't you? Giving it your best shot."
Garchomp snarled and hurdled to his Trainer, protectively. Cynthia placed her hands over her heart.
"You think I don't know, Cynthia?" he said, steadily. "I know what you did. What kind of a person you are."
When Cynthia didn't say anything, Black glanced at his remaining Pokéballs. One down, another weakened. Three, untouched choices. Who would be able to parry with the woman's famed Garchomp? A Dragon/Ground dual-type. Strengths: Electric, Fire, Poison, Rock, Steel, Dragon. Weaknesses: Dragon and Ice. Perhaps the Fossil would be the best choice. Yes, he would do.
Black grabbed his third Pokéball.
"Carracosta, I choose you!"
.
/+/+/+/+/+/ /
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"Do you think Pokémon and humans understand each other?"
N and I stand at opposite sides of the floor, as the darkened wind screams at us. N looks exactly the same: familiar tea-green hair and perpetually glum eyes. He even has that signature Menger's sponge on his belt. Above him is Reshiram, the white god and the embodiment of truths. The behemoth releases another torrent of flames, knocking down a sandstone pillar. While Reshiram howled, I try to reach N.
"Trainers have a bond with their Pokémon, a bond that's special," I explain firmly. "Battling together is a way of expressing our implicit understanding for each other. It's how we coordinate moves and strategies."
Affirming my words, Emboar nods by my side.
N seems sadder than usual.
"If humans can't even understand other humans," he insists, "how can they understand the complexity that is Pokémon? The truth is that everyone is different from each other. From that, conflict and ignorance arises."
N turns the Menger sponge in his hands. "And the cycle of abuse continues."
"That's fucking bullshit," I snap.
"And you have a different answer?"
"Hell yeah. People aren't different, because everyone shares a common core." I stand my ground. "Everybody has some ounce of decency and compassion in them. That ounce is how humans understand each other and Pokémon. Through common empathy and sympathy."
I lower my voice. "It's how I understand you. How I've grown not to hate you."
"You truly are idealistic," replies N, with a tinge of pity.
I share a conspiratorial look with Emboar, who growls in support of my words.
"You know what?" I respond. "Call me what you want, but I believe in those crapshot ideals. I'll stand by them, even if it means I have to throw everything away and fight you."
And at that moment, the Dark Stone in my pocket starts to glow.
.
/+/+/+/+/+/ /
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"Carracosta, I choose you!"
There was a flare of brilliant white. A giant, blue sea-turtle appeared, extending his heavy flippers. Bored yellow eyes glimmered under a sturdy, lithic mask, while a rugged shell encased the Pokémon's round body. Lazily, the Carracosta surveyed his surroundings. He took a look at prowling Garchomp and the burnt garden; the turtle yawned, as though he were bored.
Once again, Cynthia grasped her silver ring on her hand, as though it were a lifeline.
"Please, just let it all go," she said softly. "Your thoughts are poisoning you."
"Carracosta, Aqua Tail!"
With astounding speed, the sea-turtle coated his tail with swirling water and struck Garchomp in the face. The impact of the attack sent the Dragon-type into a glass window. As Garchomp roared and thrust back towards Carracosta, the enduring zephyr which had helped propel the turtle to greater speed strengthened. The Tailwind had escalated into a seething gale, along with Black's emotions.
"You're a hypocrite!" Black said to Cynthia. "You preach acceptance, expecting me to buy your philosophising shit."
Carracosta thrust a punch towards Garchomp, who ducked and parried.
"But how could I listen to you?" Black's voice wavered. "You wouldn't know about loss, considering what you chose to do."
"My life is my life," said Cynthia gently, "Just like your life is your own. Please, listen to me – "
Garchomp and Carracosta countered blow with blow. An unexpected chill settled over the garden, smothering the burning begonias and singed gardenias in a blanket of frost. The water in the fountain started to crystallise.
Black felt the pressure mounting. The Tailwind's windstorm bellowed, knocking down tiles off the villa's roof. His eyes burned, as he shouted:
"You abandoned your own Pokémon!"
A vicious pleasure pooled in Black's stomach when he watched Cynthia's face fall. Her signature serenity melted away, like a Surskit's dewdrop in the scorch of the Resort Desert. Shivering, she had to steady herself. She was rendered speechless.
"Cynthia Chard, born in Celestic Town, 30 July of 1981," stated Black. "First female winner of a Grand Pokémon Tournament. The Seventh Champion of the Sinnoh League."
In the background, the statues of the rejoicing milkmaids exploded in the fountain. Shards of ice and frozen marble ricocheted, as Carracosta fired an opalescent beam of energy at Garchomp. The land-shark barely dodged the Ice Beam, which spiralled into a birdhouse. Instantly, the Pidoves inside turned into ice.
"Born to a single mother, you've always had superiority complex. A drive to prove yourself," said Black, frigidly. "To the world – and to your family. It drove you nuts, didn't it? When you watched the other kids leave with their parents at the end of a school day, while you waited for your grandmother to pick you up."
Garchomp stomped the ground, causing the garden to shudder and groan, as though it were sentient and in pain. A minor Earthquake. Turfs of manicured grass gave away to rocks and stones, as the earth under Carracosta started to fissure. Both Black and Cynthia stumbled on the unstable ground. Quick on his feet, Carracosta aimed an Ice Beam downwards, before flicking it up at Garchomp. Hoarfrost spread across the ravine, streaking like cold lightning. While a pseudo-glacier filled and stabilised the top of the chasm, ice crystals froze around the water residue on Garchomp's skin. The land-shark snarled. The chill deepened.
"Your mother was ill, wasn't she?" continued Black, coldly. "Your biographies talk about your grandparents, who were both elders of Celestic Town, but never about your mother. All she gets is a little footnote mentioning her date of death, when you were ten."
Cynthia tightened her clasp around the silver ring. The brown gem glistened, as Garchomp threw another punch at Carracosta. Brick Break. Spurting a Hydro Pump, the sea-turtle fended off the land-shark's vicious assault. Water was spouted everywhere, drenching both Trainers' clothes.
Black intensified his piercing gaze.
"Stifled by the dreariness of Celestic Town, you decided to become a Pokémon Trainer, to explore the outside world," he said flatly, after ordering Carracosta to parry Garchomp's Dragon Claw with Aqua Tail.
"You wanted to become a Master, so you could avoid your grandparents' destinies of shrine-keeping and tradition-preservation. And your own mother's absence. You wanted to prove more."
Carracosta dodged Garchomp's tail, and discharged another Ice Beam.
"That desire to prove something… It's why you travel so much, even now." Black was brutal, methodical. "The Sinjoh Ruins, Faraway Island, the former Tin Tower – even Undella Town. You're definitely seeking something, but what? Power? The ability to transcend as a Trainer?"
As Garchomp smashed Carracosta's head through a birch tree, Cynthia bit her lip. Her ash-grey eyes were inscrutable, but her breath hitched and betrayed her inner feelings.
"Your Starter was a Gible, a gift from a man called Michael Rowan," recited Black. "You were excited, because Gible heralded from a strong evolutionary line. What could beat a fucking Dragon? You were hoping that the rest of your team would be the same."
While Carracosta doused Garchomp in a torrent of pressurised seawater, Black gripped his Pokébelt. Fingers brushed over each of the five Pokéballs. He felt suffocated, as though iron bands had tightened around his chest.
"Official sources claim that you caught your first Pokémon in the Eterna Forest," said Black frostily. "A Budew, which later became your famous Roserade."
Garchomp, responding to Cynthia's wayward glance, charged at Carracosta. Powering his claws with draconian energy, the land-shark gave the sea-turtle a ferocious uppercut. Twice, in a Dual Chop. The brittle shell began to crumble, like a stale biscuit.
"That's not true, though," Black resumed. "I think – no, I know– that the first Pokémon you've ever caught was a Shellos, on Route 205."
Cynthia twisted her ring; she finally spoke. "…How did you know?"
"Bertha Brunt, the then-Gym Leader of Eterna City, mentioned in her autobiography of battling a blond girl with a Gible and a Shellos," said Black in a hard tone. "In the Anthology, Byron Argente of Oreburgh also noted that when he first fought you, you used a Gastrodon, a Gabite, and a Roselia."
A stray Dragon Pulse blew the Dodrio weathervane off its hinges.
"Assuming that Eterna was your first Gym, you must have caught Shellos before Budew," finished Black, cynically. "Or else why wouldn't you use the Grass-type against a Ground-type specialist, especially one who deployed Quagsire and Whiscash?"
Garchomp struck Carracosta again. The sea-turtle winced when his shell began to rent, exposing small islands of dry, sensitive skin. Garchomp noticed. With the force of a freight train, the land-shark tackled the sea-turtle under the right flipper, where the protective casing was splintering. Dragon Rush released a tremendous aftershock which levelled the plinths of the rejoicing milkmaids. Although the stone shell remained unbroken, sharpened fragments of lithic rock dug into Carracosta's back.
The sea-turtle moaned. Bits of his flesh littered the Garchomp's hammer-head, lolling over the snout like pink tongues.
"It makes you wonder… where is Gastrodon now? Why lie?" Black faced his struggling Pokémon. "And Carracosta, hang in there. Water Pulse. Follow it with Ice Beam."
In one sluggish but measured movement, Carracosta hurled a deluge of pulsing water at Garchomp. The land-shark growled. Thrusting out his left arm, Garchomp diverted the surge with a Slash. However, the Water Pulse had left a parting gift: droplets of water clung to the Dragon-type's skin, pooling at the feet and forming rough puddles over the patches of disinterred earth and hoarfrost. A pursuing Ice Beam froze these puddles of water, pinning Garchomp to the ground. There was a bellowing roar; the land-shark's scales became brittle against the cold.
Beside the villa's porch, Cynthia slumped against a Grecian pillar. She seemed tired, immensely weary.
"Shellos must have annoyed you," said Black, icily, "when he lost the Gym Battle against Bertha. He had the type advantage, yet couldn't handle even the first Nosepass."
His voice became clipped and more jaded. "Shellos's subpar speed and commonplace abilities couldn't keep up with your other Pokémon. You wondered if Shellos was holding you back from reaching your potential. And you did want to prove your strength, so badly."
Cynthia wrung her hands, almost imperceptibly.
"After you met Lucian White, you travelled to Arrowroot Town in the North of Sinnoh," deduced Black. "You were on your way to visit Lake Valor and the myth of Azelf, your favourite of the Lake Trio; the embodiment of Willpower had always interested you."
The Tailwind reached a fever-pitch, flinging a swing-set towards the west – Garchomp's direction. Black felt the bitter anger boil his blood.
"Your official history says that there, at Arrowroot Town, you battled the Gym Leader Camellia," he said. "Although your Shellos – now probably a Gastrodon – lost against Camellia's Clefable, you eventually managed to obtain the town's Clearsong Badge. But we both know fighting Camellia wasn't the only thing you did in Arrowroot."
Garchomp, after catching a fly-by look from Cynthia, started to thaw the ice around his feet with Incinerate. Carracosta did not want to miss an opportunity, however. When Black shouted the order, the sea-turtle tucked in his legs, rolled into a ball, and, at the speed of a turret-missile, smashed into the still immobile Garchomp. The Roll Out landed a critical hit. As the adjacent statue of the innocent boy juddered and disintegrated from the shock, the land-shark howled and cradled his wounded stomach. The blue skin was beginning to mottle with bruises.
"No, something else happened after the Gym Battle. A Trainer approached you afterwards, right? Maybe one of Camellia's apprentices," intoned Black, as Cynthia gripped her arms. "That Trainer had watched your match, and, for reasons which were unfathomable to you then, had become fascinated with Gastrodon. The Trainer – I'm assuming a girl – found your Gastrodon captivating. She offered a trade for him."
Cynthia stared blankly at the grass. Repressing a pang of guilt, Black soldiered on:
"A Togekiss for your Gastrodon, the Trainer had suggested. It seemed like a good offer: you've probably always wanted a Normal/Flying dual, and the difficult battle with Camellia must have proven how powerful Normal-types could become."
He darkened his expression. "Unlike your Gastrodon, Normals boasted impressive movepools. Togekiss also had kick-ass abilities, bearing the semi-mystical honours of Serene Grace and Super Luck. Togekiss was even a fucking rarity in Sinnoh, compared to relatively common Gastrodon. Togekiss could have helped you fulfil your goals."
Garchomp brought his leg up, still coated with ice-crystals, and deflected Carracosta's Hidden Power. Another garden sculpture exploded.
"But Gastrodon was your first capture, the oldest member of your team after only Gabite," muttered Black. "It would've been obvious that Gastrodon had grown close to you; to willingly separate him from you would have been like abandonment. Because of the trauma to the Pokémon, most Trainers didn't trade away their Starters and first captures."
Reaching for the brown shard on her ring, Cynthia gazed at her fingers. She curled and uncurled them, almost mechanically.
"Cynthia, the Great Champion Cynthia, knew better, though," said Black frostily. "Shaking the Trainer's hand, you traded your Gastrodon for the Togekiss. Because power is more important, right? More than your Gastrodon's inevitable distress at leaving you. More than how the friendships between Gastrodon and the other members of your Pokémon team."
After Carracosta blasted him with Brine, the land-shark lunged towards the garden's granite sundial. Picking up it up with Strength, Garchomp slung the slab of carved rock, like an Olympian with a discus. Carracosta sidestepped, although barely.
"That's not true," was Cynthia's fraught reply."I did think about Sheldon's well-being, even though – "
"Bullshit," snapped Black. "If you did, why did you continue using Togekiss? Nobody ever saw you using a Shellos or a Gastrodon afterwards, it was always Togekiss in your League teams. Even in the Distortion World, when you had to use all of your Pokémon against the god Giratina. No Gastrodon. You never tried to renegotiate the trade."
"That's not true."
"Sure, you became more mellow and peaceable after the trade. Perhaps you realised it was stupid to seek adventure all the time, settled down a little."
Drained, Cynthia shook a little.
"You probably read a few history books and toned down your insecurities." Black seized his Pokébelt, feeling hollow. "Stopped trying to overcompensate. Settled down a little, started to reconcile your historic roots in Celestic with your ambitions for the Pokémon League."
"I don't – "
Carracosta drove his foot into Garchomp's arm, creating an ominous cracking sound.
"You definitely changed, Cynthia," said Black. "After that trade, you became less of a fickle girl and more of a serene Champion, the first female winner of a Grand Pokémon Tournament. It's transformed you."
He pointed at Cynthia's hands. "You even kept a small brown shard, a shed flaking from Gastrodon's shell. You probably wear it, because you sometimes remember and wonder about the past, right?"
Hastily, Cynthia hid the silver ring under her cloak.
"You remember the trade, that's for certain." Black dropped his voice down into a threatening whisper. "But don't you fucking dare to pretend that you regret it."
Garchomp flailed under Carracosta's immense weight, swiping blindly at the sea-turtle. However, Carracosta did not falter. More pressure was piled on, as the Dragon-type's arm started to snap into an awkward position.
"You don't understand what real loss feels like," said Black; his heart was heavy. "Real loss is when something precious is forcibly wrenched out of your life. Something so precious that you'd trade away the air you breathe for just one more minute with it."
Cynthia's reply was muted: "I do understand. With Sheldon, I couldn't…"
"Shut. Up." Black growled. "Real loss is when you couldn't protect that something because you were too fucking weak, too deficient. You couldn't stop it."
As the Tailwind reached its concluding crescendo, Black whispered against the storm:
"Real loss isn't something you choose."
At last, the bellowing winds began to wane and fade from Caitlin's garden. The begonia bushes ceased to thrash as though they were against an invisible hand; the frosted waters of the marble fountains stilled. Flying debris started to drift towards the ground, like sleeted snowflakes, as the Tailwind evanesced.
Black focussed on the anger in his chest, suppressing the other emotions which rustled at the edges. Cynthia was crouched on the floor, putting her head in her arms.
"You're not even talking to me because you actually want to," he said, almost inaudibly.
Cynthia didn't look up.
"The current Sinnoh Champion… Dawn." His words were unsteady, as though he was reluctant to roll them off his tongue. "Team Galactic had a stranglehold of the Spear Pillar, attempting to bring destruction to Sinnoh, yet she had to tackle the mountain. Alone."
Twisting under Carracosta's weight, Garchomp opened his mouth and spewed a flaring pillar of yellow flames. Slips of empyreal blue laced the blaze. While the sea-turtle squirmed to douse the draconian fire, Garchomp exploited the distraction caused by his Dragon Rage. The land-shark kicked Carracosta, sending the preoccupied Water-type off him in one, fluid motion.
"Storming the Galactic Veilstone Headquarters, stopping the Galactic Commanders at the Lakes – they were your responsibilities," said Black, in a hushed tone. "Other Champions had intervened directly: the Mossdeep Space Center in '05, Mahogany Town in '08. But in Sinnoh, a twelve year-old girl had no help."
"What happened to Dawn has no bearing here," replied Cynthia. Black noted that the woman's voice was husky.
"Yes, it does," he said. "You couldn't help Dawn, who probably resents you for abandoning her. You feel guilty; you failed her. But look, there's another young Champion, whose circumstances are similar to Dawn's. You have a second chance to makes things right."
Wincing at his broken arm and bruised stomach, Garchomp lobbed a gunk of hardened mud at Carracosta. (Mud Shot). The sea-turtle, wheezing under his own injuries, parried weakly. The Pokémon were nearly at their fight's end. Another moment would cause their unconsciousness.
"To you, I'm just a pity case," murmured Black. "A blank slate upon which you can doll up your guilt. How fucking meaningless."
Finally, Cynthia looked up. Her grey eyes were rawly-red rimmed.
"It's not meaningless," she said, slowly. "When I look at you, I don't see a pity case or a blank slate."
"A hero, then. Give me the word, and I'll capture a monster or a god for you," he retorted, bitter. "Because that's what I'm good at, apparently."
"Not that either," was the quiet reply.
Black laughed. "Something to be frightened of, then. Something to point at. An exhibit for show."
Cynthia's eyes were resolute. "Why are you so scared of opening up to me? Why?"
"Go screw yourself, Cynthia. You wouldn't understand me – you abandoned your Pokémon, just as you abandoned the current Sinnoh Champion."
Standing up, Cynthia brought herself to her full height. It was impressive, topping Black's own height by a few centimetres. Statuesque, like one of those Argos sculptures from Alto Mare. With a start, Black realised that Cynthia really was an adult, a woman. Somebody who had years of experience and wisdom over him.
Cynthia approached him. When she tried to touch his arm, he pulled away. Her face, normally calm and inscrutable, was tightened with concern and weariness. She looked much older than her twenty-nine years.
"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, a lot of things I wish I could do again," she said, after returning Garchomp to her ball.
Black pointed his own Pokéball at Carracosta. The sea-turtle, exhausted and battered, lazily glanced at Cynthia and stared at Black. Carracosta flicked his head towards the blonde woman, as though he were asking Black to listen to her. There was a flash of red, and Carracosta dissolved back into the Dive Ball.
"I regret leaving Dawn alone. Yes, I should have stayed with her," said Cynthia, as Black pocketed Carracosta's ball. "She was too young to deal with the Galactic Admins, not to mention Cyrus. I bear that responsibility and, as a price, endure Dawn's resentment even today."
She sighed, before resuming.
"And trading away Sheldon was one of worst things I've ever done." She withdrew her hand from her cloak, allowing sunlight to glint off the brown shard. "You think I don't know this? Believe what you want, but not a single day has gone by where I haven't thought of my Gastrodon. I love Togekiss, but it's not the same."
"You willingly abandoned your Pokémon."
"I was a silly little girl who thought she could do no wrong," replied Cynthia, tiredly.
She raised her ring. "I wear this ring as a reminder of what I've failed to do, to remind myself that arrogance can be my downfall."
Black scowled, as a vindictive streak surged through him. It fuelled his anger, as one would feed meat to a caged predator.
"Really? A ring?" repeated Black. "Did you even bother searching for Togekiss's original Trainer to reverse the trade? Maybe your Gastrodon was too pathetic for anyone to want him back."
Cynthia moved so swiftly that Black scarcely caught more than her shadow and a whip of long blond hair. She held him by the collar, grey eyes darkened to furious black. Black fought back an expression of surprise; this was the first time he had seen Cynthia angry.
"You can call me names and accuse me of whatever crimes you want," said Cynthia in a low, dangerous voice. "But disrespect my Pokémon again, especially Gastrodon, and I'll fucking finish you."
She said it so matter-of-factly that Black was a little dazed. The fact that Cynthia, the pleasant but aloof Cynthia, had sworn compounded the absurdity of the situation.
"Finish me, then," said Black. "Give it your best shot."
Softening her expression, Cynthia released Black from her hands. She tentatively tried to touch his shoulder again, but he pushed her away once more.
She said Black's name.
"I want you to know something," said Cynthia, steadily. "Dawn, Gastrodon, Cyrus – I regret a lot of things in my life. But no matter what you say – "
She raised her gaze; Black recoiled at the genuine resolve burnishing her face.
" – I don't regret meeting you."
Black felt something surge through his body, searing through the tips of his limbs. As memories rattled and re-emerged, his throat parched and words stuck to the roof of his mouth. He backed away from Cynthia.
"It's true: I have never experienced a loss like you have," admitted Cynthia. "I could never understand completely, and neither can anyone else. Tension and ignorance will always be there, callously."
Black swallowed uneasily; he tried to muster a glare, but he was failing.
"The painful memories will never truly leave you, and a part of you will never heal," Cynthia said softly. "Some truths will be difficult to reconcile with ideals; optimism will seem asinine."
"Don't fuck with me, Cynthia."
"But I want you to know," she said, "you're not alone."
Black trembled. "Fuck you, Cynthia."
Cynthia drew closer. "You're not alone."
"Fuck you."
With his good hand, Black pushed the woman away. But his arms felt limp, as though all the blood and energy had been sucked out of them. A terrible weight pressed down on his eyes, prompting him to rub them. Why were they… wet?
"Since there is sadness, we can feel joy," said Cynthia. "With anger, there's compassion."
Black backed against a frozen birch; his breathing was shallow. He promised himself he wouldn't, he promised himself he wouldn't –
"You don't need to bottle your emotions," she said.
When Cynthia placed two fingers under his chin, Black couldn't find the strength to push her away. What was happening? His heart was pounding at hundred miles per hour, and every pore was numb. Black dimly registered that his legs were beginning to fail him. With a small thud, the knees buckled and Black found himself on the ground. Everything around him was frozen, from the grass to the fragmented garden gnomes. His breath formed a chilled vapour.
Cynthia crouched next to him. Gently, she placed her hand over his.
"It's okay to feel," she whispered, directing her gaze into his. "It's how we know that we're human."
Black didn't respond.
Cynthia caressed his icy palms.
"You're not alone."
Black's reply was feeble. "Stop fucking around."
Carefully, Cynthia brought her arms around the shaking boy. As her body pressed against his, Black became aware of the tickle of her blond hair against his cheek, the lilac scent of Glacideas from her perfume, the warmth of her breath on his cold face.
"You're not alone," she repeated, softly.
The guarded dam broke. Shuddering, Black collapsed in Cynthia's arms. He clutched her arms, as the former Champion stroked his head.
"Fuck you, Cynthia," he sobbed. "Fuck you."
At last, Black began to cry.
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/+/+/+/+/+/ /
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It takes only one stray shot. One stray shot from Reshiram for the deed to be done.
I start running. Dust clings to the air, obscuring my sight, and the horrible stench of burning fur permeates. I nearly throw up when I realise that the dust is probably the remnants of charred flesh.
When I reach him, my hands are shaking too much to even hold his head. The damage is terrible: his left tusk had been ripped out completely, and a gash in the flank leaks rivulets of blood. Those red eyes are hooded with pain. It takes only another minute for those eyes to close.
I stagger backwards, tripping over a stump that was a few feet away from the body. When I look down, I fall to my knees. My sight blurs with vertigo, as I reach out and clasp that severed arm. The black fur is still smouldering slightly, and my hand burns a little. I only let go when N dashes towards me and tries to pull me off the burning arm. Screaming, I push him away. I want to punch him, kill him.
But my body won't listen. Sobs racket me in little, choked gasps. The world spins around.
"I – I am sorry," says N.
He tries to approach me again, but this time I managed to punch him. N lets the blow connect; there is a cracking noise when his head hits the wall.
"Stay away, get the fuck away from me– " My words are grabbled and rushed, as I start wheezing.
N seems frightened. Fumbling, he picks up the Menger's sponge. The green tiles are marred with a thick, brown liquid. N trembles and lowers his head, avoiding my eyes.
My own weakness, because I couldn't protect. My own stupidity for not listening, for trusting N. For thinking that he is my friend and I could understand him–
This had to end, and end now. I glare at Reshiram and Zekrom. As hatred burns my eyes, I grip my Pokéballs.
At last, I start to cry.
/fin of Chapter Four/
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